#jack and jack pics | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

makoodles · 4 months

Text

ミ stay for something

🍓 pairing: kyle 'gaz' garrick x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, ex-boyfriend!gaz, unprotected vaginal sex, lack of communication, jealousy, 'just the tip' trope, sex with feelings

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

You hate wasting a Friday night on a first date, but you had genuinely high hopes for this one. You had made such an effort, too; pretty sparkly eyeshadow, strawberry-flavoured lipgloss, a new little black dress.

You look good. You feel good.

It’s just a shame that the guy is a bit of a moron.

He talks about himself a lot over dinner. Like, so much. You sit and smile and pretend to listen, your gaze wandering, and wonder if he’s going to ask any questions about you. He does (eventually), but they’re short and perfunctory and he seems to just take your answers and use them as a springboard into his next topic of discussion.

It’s a little tedious, but hey. First dates usually are. You weather it, your polite smile turning a little stiff as you sip your wine. Truthfully, you have ulterior motives here.

You’re not proud of it, but you don’t think you can handle the dry spell you’re going through anymore. You crave touch, affection, some kind of connection. You’re okay with being single, but god you’re so hungry for intimacy that it’s led to you agreeing to a date with a guy that you honestly wouldn’t have normally been into just for the chance of getting some action.

Ben is a nice enough guy, and he’s certainly good looking; neatly groomed hair, straight white teeth, a nice physique. He’s in good shape, though you can’t help but subconsciously compare him to—

No, you think sternly to yourself, Don’t do that.

When he leans into you at the end of the date and asks in a low, sultry voice if you want to continue the night with him, you agree a little breathlessly. God, it’s been a long time since you were touched.

Your place is closer, and you can’t help but feel a little illicit thrill as you lead Ben back. You never usually bring guys back to yours, especially not on the first date, but you’ll be the first to admit that you’re needy tonight.

The weather is getting colder as winter creeps its icy fingers through the air, but you’re wrapped tight in your coat and kept nice and warm as Ben wraps an arm around your waist, kissing heatedly at your neck as you try to open your door.

You giggle, the wine from dinner making you all loose and happy and eager. You tilt your head to give him more of your throat, and he eagerly takes the opportunity to introduce teeth and tongue as he kisses the line of your neck. You fumble with the key, clumsy as your body heats up.

When you finally manage to turn the key and get the stupid door open, Ben grabs you by the hips and spins you around so that he can pull you into a proper kiss. The guy might have been a dull conversationalist, but you’re delighted to find that he’s a good kisser.

The two of you stumble through the door, your arms locked around his neck as he holds you by the waist. It’s a little embarrassing how eager you are for a guy that you really aren’t even all that into, but you guess that’s just where desperation has gotten you.

“Shit,” Ben hisses when you nip at his lip. “Fuck, you’re so hot. C’mere, take this off.”

He starts tugging at your coat, and you pull back just enough to shrug it off, letting it drop to the floor. He lets out a throaty sound of appreciation, before grabbing at your waist again and leaning in to trail another set of hot kisses along your neck and shoulder.

You tilt your head back, thunking lightly against the wall, and your eyelids flutter at the nipping kisses along your sensitive skin.

“Oh, god…” You breathe, blinking your eyes open again.

But then… you pause. For the first time, you notice that the lights in your entryway are on. Why are they on? You hadn’t turned them on when you came in, and you know that they weren’t on when you had left.

Ben is still groping eagerly at your hips, one hand reaching around to squeeze at your ass, but now you’re distracted, on alert. Your eyes dart around, and fall on a pair of Adidas Superstars set neatly by the front door, and a big puffer coat that’s been hung up on the hook in the hall.

Oh no. No fucking way.

As if to confirm the path your thoughts had just taken, your eyes catch on a figure in the doorway to the living room, leaning casually against the doorframe. Just watching.

A scream catches in your throat, and you grab Ben by the shoulders in an attempt to stop him. He doesn’t seem to understand, because he just keeps squeezing at your ass, pulling your hips closer so that he can slot between your legs and grind against you.

The brief spark of arousal that shoots through you when he grinds his hard-on into the seam of your cunt through your underwear is significantly dampened by the awareness that someone is already in your home, watching you, and you already know who it is.

“Hey, baby,” Kyle fucking Garrick says, lifting a mug patterned with little cartoon cats to his mouth. “Had a nice night out?”

“Jesus Christ–” You hiss, shoving at Ben’s chest. This time, the push isn’t needed, because Ben has rocketed up straight at the sound of another man’s voice in your house calling you ‘baby’.

“What the–” Ben starts to say, his brow furrowing into a bewildered frown when he catches sight of Gaz standing in the doorway watching you.

“Kyle, what are you doing here?” You snap, mortified. You grab at the bottom of your short little dress, pulling roughly at it to try and make sure you’re not flashing anyone.

Gaz watches you, amusement shining in his dark eyes. He’s not even trying to hide the way his gaze is drawn to your legs, lingering where your dress has ridden up your thighs. He sips his tea, a poor attempt at concealing his smirk.

“Home from deployment earlier than expected, love.” He says, calm and casual as if he hasn’t just broken into your goddamn house to destroy any hope you had of getting railed that night. “No time to find accommodation. You don’t mind, eh?”

Ben’s head is swinging between the two of you, his expression blank as he tries to work out just what exactly is happening. He’s straightened up entirely, the presence of Gaz obviously putting him on edge. You can’t blame him for his confusion; Gaz is currently looking at you like he wants to fucking eat you alive, and you’re beginning to get hot and flustered under his stare.

“Are you–” Ben starts, his head still on a swivel as though he can’t decide who to address. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

Gaz doesn’t even bother to reply at once. He sips at his tea, and tilts his head as he lets his eyes wander over Ben lazily. It doesn’t seem like he’s all too impressed by what he sees, though he’s smirking as though he’s amused.

“Sergeant Kyle Garrick.” He says at last, with a nod.

You huff. You know what he’s doing – he never introduces himself by his rank unless he’s trying to make a point.

Ben goes stiff. He’s still pressed against you, and you can feel every ounce of tension down the line of your body. It seems like he’s just now clocking Gaz as a proper threat, and you take a breath as you realise that he’s about to split and leave you here.

And sure enough–

“I– Listen, I don’t know what’s.. what’s going on here, but I don’t want any trouble.” Ben says, finally pushing himself away from you. He’s holding his hands up by his shoulders as though he’s being held at gunpoint, and you roll your eyes impatiently at his dramatics.

“No trouble, mate.” Gaz says, his voice still cheerfully amiable. “Door’s behind you.”

“Gaz–” You hiss, incensed, but it’s pointless.

Ben is already scrambling to open the door, heedless of the way you grasp onto his coat in protest. You sigh heavily as he tumbles out into the cold night, and the door slams shut behind him so loud it makes your head hurt.

You stand alone in your entryway, shivering a little in your tiny black dress and heels from the icy breeze that was let in from Ben’s escape. Your jaw is clenched tight, and you take a deep, deep breath as you turn to face your ex-boyfriend.

Gaz is still watching you, his deep brown eyes staring at you from beneath his long dark lashes. You try hard to ignore his expression, which is unmistakably hungry.

“You look good, baby.” He says, staring pointedly at the way your breasts are all pushed up in your tight dress.

“Don’t call me that.” You grumble, teaching down to unbuckle your delicate heels. You cast them aside and kick them over so they’re laying beside Gaz’s runners.

Gaz just snickers, turning to follow after you when you march your way to the kitchen. Irritation is burning hot in your veins, your lips pursed as you struggle to bite your tongue. It’s so fucking typical that the exact night you try to have some cheap, meaningless sex with some stranger, Gaz has decided to land right into your home. It’s like he has a fucking radar for when you’re about to get laid.

“You could have gotten a hotel.” You snap over your shoulder as you make your way to the kettle. It’s already hot, but you flick the switch again anyway.

“Nah. They’re all booked out. Busy season, you know.”

God, he’s so full of shit. You both know he never even considered staying anywhere other than with you, just like the last few times.

Still, you persevere.

“You could have stayed with one of the guys.” You say, turning around and folding your arms over your chest.

Gaz glances down, and you realise that you’ve inadvertently pushed your breasts together and up. You hastily drop your arms again, and settle instead for planting your hands on your hips.

“Could have,” He admits, leaning against your kitchen table in a way that’s infuriatingly casual. “But they never offered.”

“Neither did I–!”

Gaz doesn’t even seem to hear you. He just steps towards you, reaching to grab an empty mug from the cupboard above your head. The movement brings him so close to you, close enough that your next inhale is scented with his fresh-sweet cologne, the one you always loved, and you find your eyelids fluttering as your muscles relax without your permission. He smells so familiar, so comforting. You hate it.

“Go get changed,” He murmurs, keeping his voice low like he knows the moment is delicate. “We’ll watch a movie.”

You’d love to get fired up, to shove him or curse at him, but it’s all you can do to find the strength to step away from him instead of melting into him. You’re pretty sure he deserves an ass-kicking for this stunt of this, but you decide to pick your battles. Or at least, to postpone them.

You waver another moment, debating over whether you should try to get the last say, but Gaz has already turned away to continue making the cup of tea that you had started. Recognising that the moment has passed, you huff a sigh and march out of the kitchen, making your way to your bedroom.

It takes quite a bit of wiggling to get out your dress – it might look good, but there’s an inordinate sense of relief when you finally tug it over your head and feel as though you can breathe unimpeded again. You unclip your bra and toss it aside, rolling your shoulders and sighing as your breasts are freed.

Once you're dressed again in a worn-out massive t-shirt that drowns your body and some loose sweatpants, looking decidedly unsexy, you pad to your bathroom and start washing your makeup off. Now that you’re alone, that disappointment and frustration is settling in properly. Ben might have been boring, but if his kissing was anything to judge by, you might actually have had a perfectly enjoyable night with him.

Bare-faced and dressed for lounging in bed, you trudge back downstairs to your ex-boyfriend. It’s far from the way you wanted to end your night, but you’ve resigned yourself to your fate. You can hear the muffled sounds from the television as you make your way downstairs, and you redirect yourself towards your small sitting room.

Gaz is sat sprawled on the couch, his legs spread wide as he makes himself comfortable in your home. Something twists in your stomach at how comfy he looks, as though he belongs there. He looks around when you walk in, though your footsteps are quiet and muffled by your fluffy socks.

You look far from sexy right now in your ugly old loungewear and bare face, but Gaz brightens up at the sight of you.

“There she is.” He crows, though there’s something soft in his gaze that you can hardly face. “C’mon, love. Want to pick what we’re watching?”

You just look at him tiredly. He’s as handsome as ever; the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. He must have come straight here once he’d gotten back from deployment because his eyes are dark and exhausted and stubble is a little more overgrown than usual. You hate that he’s able to come into your space like this so easily – like he’s never left.

“Gaz–” You start to say, but you’re cut off when he reaches for your hand.

He tugs you towards him, and you put a knee hastily up on the couch to prevent yourself from falling flat into his lap.

“Shhh, c’mon. Just sit with me.” He murmurs, looking up at you with those damn pretty eyes.

You waver, but then you turn your head to the side and catch sight of the second cup of tea sitting on the coffee table. Gaz has made it just how you like it, and in your favourite mug too. You crumble almost instantly.

“Stick to your side of the couch.” You grumble, before dropping yourself down heavily onto the sofa next to him.

Gaz hums, and you can already tell that he has no intention of following that order. His arm is already sprawled over the back of the couch; it’s not touching you, but you have no doubt that he’ll try to before the end of the night.

He sticks on some stupid movie on Netflix. You don’t pay attention. It’s a rom-com, which is typical. He always pretends he chooses the sappy romantic films for your benefit, but you’re not fooled. You see the way he watches them with avid interest, the way his toes curl in his socks when the big love confession scene comes on screen. It’s always been something that you’re impossibly fond of.

The two of you are silent for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. Part of you wishes that it was awkward – it would be easier, you think. But he makes it so simple, sitting with him like this as the cheesy film plays in the background. You’re still a little tipsy from the drinks you’d had at dinner, and you melt into the couch beside him a little quicker than you think you would have otherwise.

“You ruined my night, you know.” You say at last, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

To your surprise, he’s already looking at you. You glance away hastily again, not wanting to make eye contact.

“Nah,” He says, and you feel his arm dip down a little. He’s cupping your shoulders now, and you should probably move away, but you don’t. “If anything, I saved you from having a long, disappointing night with some tosser you agreed to pity-date. He didn’t exactly look like your type, darling.”

“He was a perfectly nice guy.” You bite out, crossing your arms defensively over your belly in your big t-shirt.

“Nice guys don’t end the first date by groping your ass and humping you up against your wall in your own house.” He says, and if you’re not mistaken you’d say he sounds a little bitter.

You cast a sideways glance at him. He’s sitting up, watching you closely and leaning just slightly towards you. He’s so intense about the way he’s looking at you, his arm dipping low so that he’s holding you properly.

“Stop it.” You say. It hardly even sounds like a proper protest. You’re so tired, still a little floaty from the wine you’d had at dinner, and desperately disappointed by the lack of sexual satisfaction you had been hoping for.

There’s a pause, and then Gaz gives a small shrug. He pulls his arm back to give you space, but he still has that stupid smirk on his face. You can’t even be angry about the cockiness of his expression when his eyes are that soft though.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He murmurs. “I’m not being fair, am I?”

“No,” You say petulantly. “You’re not.”

He huffs a noise that’s almost a laugh, only he manages to stifle it so that it comes out as a cough instead.

“Mm. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to ruin your big date night, especially when you got done up so pretty for it,” He murmurs, his voice low and sweet as honey trickling down your spine. “Let me make up for it. Come on, get over here.”

You hesitate, but Gaz isn’t really giving you an option. He begins to shift, one of his strong muscled arms looping around your waist as he pulls you into him. It takes you a long moment to realise what it is that he’s trying to do. He lays back on the couch and pulls you with him, encouraging you to pull your legs up onto the sofa so that the two of you are laying on your sides, with Gaz spooned up against your back.

It’s definitely a bad idea to cuddle with him on the couch like this. You’re trying to set boundaries, to make it clear that you’re just friends (if you can even call it that) after your breakup. And yet… you don’t offer any sort of protest at all.

“Relax,” Gaz sighs from behind you, and you feel his nose nuzzle against the back of your neck. “You love cuddling.”

You roll your eyes, turning your head slightly so he can see the unimpressed expression on your face.

“This isn’t enough to make up for being such a dick.” You grumble. Despite your griping, you don’t actually make any attempt to get out of his arms.

He was right, after all. You do love cuddling. It was your favourite thing to do when you were together.

But you’re not together anymore, and it’s hard to ignore the gnawing guilt that you’re letting this grow into something that should be avoided instead of nipping it in the bud. You and Gaz had broken up months ago, and it was a perfectly amicable split. You can’t even say that he was at fault for any of it; the strain of the long distance part of your relationship while he was on deployment just grew too much for you, the space his absence left filling with brambled loneliness that pricked incessantly at you. You had known what you were getting into with this relationship with him, and yet when it came down to it you got too greedy, wanting more of him than he was able to give.

Tonight was a moment of weakness for you, and though your hopes for sex may have been thwarted, you can’t turn down the soft familiar intimacy of Gaz’s strong body cradling you close against him.

Maybe it’s the wine you had at dinner, but you find your muscles relaxing a little as one of Gaz’s arms loops around your waist, his big hand coming to rest across your belly.

“Mm. I’m being selfish, love.” He murmurs, and you fight a shiver as his warm breath ghosts over the delicate shell of your ear. “This is more for me than for you.”

You’re not altogether sure that’s true. It’s certainly doing an awful lot for you right now. Gaz is in just a t-shirt, the muscles of his biceps bunching up under his bare skin as he tries to subtly nudge you closer to him.

You’ve missed being all wrapped up in the warm embrace of him; he cuddles with his whole body, the front of his thighs all pressed against the back of yours, his strong chest moulding to your back as his face nuzzles against the back of your neck. You always feel so safe when he holds you like this, like he’s blocking out the rest of the world for you. You can only guess he feels the same – he holds you that much tighter every time he gets back home from his missions.

You grumble quietly, but soon settle down. The repetitive stroking motion of his thumb over your hip is more soothing than it should be. You take deep breaths, trying to be subtle about it, because all you can smell is Gaz and his citrusy sweet aftershave and you just want to drown in it.

“You can’t keep doing this.” You mumble, though all the fight has gone out of you. “It’s not… helpful.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Gaz shifts behind you. His arm tightens around your waist almost imperceptibly, as though he thinks you’re going to push him away. But you’re being selfish now too, comfortably wrapped up against his chest.

“We said we’d stay friends,” He says at last, and he’s so close that you can feel his lips move against the back of your neck as he speaks. “Nothin’ wrong with some platonic cuddling. You should see how close me an’ Soap have had to cuddle to conserve heat when we’re out on the field.”

You huff a small laugh, which is obviously what he had been hoping for. Platonic cuddling. This certainly doesn’t feel platonic, but you can’t bring yourself to push him away. You’ve been craving this kind of closeness for months now, so you just let yourself reluctantly enjoy it. It would have been so much easier if you were able to enjoy it with Ben, with someone who meant nothing to you and wouldn’t have brought with him such a complicated web of feelings and history, but there’s a real sense of comfort in the familiarity of Gaz’s presence.

The film Gaz had chosen to stick on is a stupid one. It’s half action, half love story, with a strong rugged hero and a too-beautiful love-interest whose main role seems to be throwing out quips for comedic relief. You’ve seen a hundred versions of this plot play out in other films, though Gaz is predictably glued to the screen. He’s always loved these stupid films.

You’re comfortable enough that you fall into a light doze, uninterested in the television as you relish the heat from Gaz’s chest. He’s like a fucking human radiator, so hot that you can feel a thin dew of sweat begin to break out along your spine. It chases away the chill of the night and makes you so sleepy.

You’re almost asleep when movement from behind you jolts you back to wakefulness. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve imagined it. Then Gaz moves again, and this time it’s unmistakable.

Gaz is hard, the thick ridge of him impossible to miss as he presses against your ass. You’re awake instantly, the slight tipsiness from dinner vanishing into thin air. You’re on high alert, eyes darting back to the television to see what the fuck has aroused him, but there’s nothing of note happening onscreen. It’s just a conversation between characters, exposition setting up the next stage of the plot.

“Gaz,” You say, and your voice comes out louder than you had intended. “Stop humping my ass.”

You’re half-expecting him to deny it, but he just huffs a quiet snort, his nose nuzzling against the back of your neck.

“Sorry, love.” He says, though he doesn’t sound sorry in the least. “Can’t help it. Missed you loads.”

You can feel his cock even through the layers of your clothing, and you swallow hard. God, you’ve missed it. You’ve missed him, though it doesn’t seem like the right time to admit it. How are you ever supposed to get over each other if he keeps coming to stay with you every time he gets back from wherever in God’s name he’s been, when he holds you so sweetly and talks to you like you’re still his girl?

His hips rock into you in a movement that’s almost imperceptible, except you’re waiting for it. His hands are gripping your waist, his fingers curling into the soft flesh there. He’s always enjoyed the way your body yields to him, so much softer than the hard planes of muscle that make up his own, and it’s no surprise that he goes straight back to holding onto his favourite parts of you even as he ruts against your ass.

“Jesus, Gaz–” You start to complain, but your voice is a little too breathy to be convincingly angry.

“Stop that,” He murmurs, his lips pressing against the side of your neck. “You never call me that.”

That is true – after the breakup, calling him Kyle just seemed too intimate. It’s a name that usually falls from your lips with care, in soft whispers made for dark rooms and quiet moments. His callsign offers distance, reminds you both that what you had is in the past. Or that it should be in the past, at least.

“Kyle,” You concede tiredly. “You dickhead.”

He just hums. He knows you well enough to know that you’re not really angry; you’re not even attempting to move away from him, though you know you should. The film is mostly forgotten in the background, though you’re vaguely aware that the two characters onscreen have now progressed to confessing their love before the big final battle. You just sigh; this little romantic film moment is only going to encourage Gaz even more.

Yet still, you don’t move.

The way he’s grinding his thick cock against the swell of your ass is making your blood run hot. The pressure every time his hips roll lightly against you and the way that he uses his grip on your hips to pull you back against him is making your brain all stupid and fuzzy. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way you shift, the way you allow your bum to brush back against him. It earns you a soft little grunt that’s mostly muffled by the way he’s mouthing at your throat.

Oh, it would be so easy to slip the sweatpants that separates the two of you down, to allow him to slide into you. A little woozily, you think it would feel like he was coming home.

But to actually have sex feels like too much of a commitment, too confusing a step to take when things between you two were already muddled and confused enough. You’re almost afraid to even turn around to glance over your shoulder at him, as though making eye contact might mean you’ll both wake up and stop.

Gaz’s cock has gotten even harder, filling out thickly as he slots against the clothed groove of your ass. He’s not even touching your pussy, and yet your knickers are slick and sticky. It’s embarrassing at your age to be laying on the couch, watching a movie and getting dry-humped like a fucking teenager, and yet your skin feels as though it’s been lit aflame.

Then rustling fabric breaks the silence, and Gaz shifts a little behind you in an odd motion as the insistent pressure on your ass is finally relieved. In its absence, you’re almost disappointed.

You tilt your head, just barely turning it, just enough to see that he’s just pulled out his cock.

“Kyle–”

“Sorry, baby,” He says again, panting against the side of your neck and making you shiver. “– ‘m just too hard, getting uncomfortable. Ignore it.”

Ignore it? You think, a little hysterically. The gentle rocking of his erection into your ass was one thing, but how the fuck are you supposed to ignore the fact that your ex is all pressed up against you, still holding you by the waist with one hand as the other fists at his cock.

You glance behind you and down before you can help yourself, your self-control as lacking as ever. Fuck. You’ve missed the sight of that. He has the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, even if right now it’s flushed dark and angry and painful looking. Your mouth waters. He was obviously telling the truth when he said it was getting sore, and you feel a reluctant swell of sympathy.

“Been thinking of you for months, baby.” He murmurs, placing a wet, messy kiss on your throat. “I can’t even fucking cum properly when you’re not around, it’s not the fucking same. God, even missed the way you smell–”

As if to punctuate that, he presses his nose in your hair and inhales deeply. You know you smell like the sweet perfume you had sprayed earlier, your favourite one. You know from experience that it’s also Gaz’s favourite one. You tell yourself it’s a coincidence.

“Why didn’t you fuck someone else then? Get it out of your system?” You say, and it comes out a little harsh, a little raw. It reveals more than you want to; you feel a little ill at the thought of Gaz with some faceless girl, holding her and making her laugh, her hands touching him like you do.

If Gaz picks up on the bite in your voice, he’s kind enough to ignore it. He just huffs a quick snort like the suggestion is ridiculous, his sloppy mouthing at your neck turning into a chaste affectionate kiss that feels totally at odds with the desperate motions of his hand pumping at his cock.

“Why would I do that when I had a girl waiting for me at home?” He asks, his voice so soft with you. “Never wanted anyone else.”

Your toes curl, guilt coiling in your stomach. You hate that you feel pleased that he’s waited for you, that he doesn’t want anyone else. You’re not being fair – it had been you who had broken it off, after all. He should be able to get with whoever he wants to. Conceivably, he is allowed to. Yet you can’t pretend that you wouldn’t have been sick to your stomach if he admitted that he had.

God, you feel like such a hypocrite. Here you are, admittedly all too happy that Gaz has stayed faithful to a relationship that isn’t even intact anymore, and there he is, having just witnessed you come home with a stranger’s hands all over you.

“We’re not together anymore.” You whisper, when what you want to say is I’m sorry.

“I know.” Gaz replies, and it sounds like For now.

It’s not a surprise when the hand on your waist slips around to your belly, and then lower again as it slips beneath the waistband of your bottoms. You try and fail to suppress the wet gasp that’s pulled from your throat when his long fingers coast over the front of your knickers, finding your clothed clit with unerring accuracy.

“Oh, lace, baby?” He says, his breath catching in his eagerness before realisation seems to set in. “Oh. This was for your little date, eh?”

The guilt again, gnawing in your chest. You arch your back, simultaneously shying away and crowding your ass back up against him. It’s mortifying, being caught with your fancy underwear beneath your baggy unflattering sweatpants by your ex-boyfriend and having him know without a shadow of a doubt that you intended them to be seen by someone else.

“I was–” You start to say breathily, but Gaz doesn’t let you finish.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” He murmurs, his lips ghosting along the shell of your ear. “I know, I know. But he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve you. Jesus, he didn’t even know what he fuckin’ had, ran like a coward–”

“Gaz–” You try again. You can’t help but feel as though you need to explain yourself, like the two of you should talk this through.

“You’re so soft, Jesus Christ.” He mutters, the side of his hand rubbing at the squishy flesh of your thighs as he strokes at your clit. “Were you always this soft?”

It sounds as though he’s trying to remember, desperate and wanting. You swallow thickly, closing your eyes as that familiar pleasure licks up your spine. He knows you so well, knows every part of you and exactly how to touch you, and you can hardly believe you ever entertained letting anyone else put their hands on you.

“I got a new body oil.” You breathe, distracted by his touch. “It’s– it’s vanilla scented.”

“Yeah,” He groans, and you shiver helplessly when you feel his tongue on your neck, licking a hot stripe up to your earlobe. “I can smell it.”

His index and middle fingers are so firm on either side of your clit, rolling circles around it without actually touching you properly. You sigh, back arching, but before you can actually enjoy it his hands are pulling away.

“Wait–” You gasp, your body crying out in protest as Gaz stops, pulling his hand back out of your pants.

Gaz just grunts, kisses your neck once more, then tugs your sweatpants down. You lift your hips up immediately, thoughtlessly, and then kick your sweats and knickers off impatiently. It’s a little embarrassing, especially when the cool air hits your slick, sticky thighs and you shiver.

“Oh god, fuck,” He groans, his plush lips dragging along the sensitive skin at the back of your neck. “You’ve ruined yourself, baby.”

It’s embarrassing to admit it, but it’s true. The dry spell you’ve experienced since the breakup has been little more than a mild inconvenience for the most part, but now it feels like your body is charged like a live wire. It feels like you’ve never been touched before, and you squirm backwards in an attempt to get any kind of friction again.

“Kyle–” You start to complain, but you don’t get to finish because then Gaz is slotting his cock in between your thighs.

He groans, taking a breath as he shuffles his hips closer. His pretty, glistening cock is wedged between the soft pudge of your thighs, the head of it nudging against the wet folds of your cunt every time he twitches.

“Let me put the tip in, baby.” He says, his voice gruff and wanting in your ear. “Literally just the tip, that’s it, huh? It’s not like actual fucking, right?”

In this moment, you think you’d agree to anything to get his dick into you. You had been all kinds of wound up even before you had come home to find Gaz waiting for you, but it’s like your body had some kind of Pavlovian response to Gaz’s touch because now you’re practically panting for him.

He’s right, after all. It’s not really fucking. It means that you can maintain the flimsy thin pretence that this means nothing.

“Okay.” You manage to say, though it comes out humiliatingly breathy. “Yeah, okay, the tip–”

Gaz’s cock is pressing into you before you can even finish your sentence, bullying into the wet grasping tightness of your cunt and making you gasp.

You’ve gone long enough without getting laid that there’s a slight sting as he presses into you, but it’s overshadowed by the breathless relief. God, you’d forgotten how fucking good his dick felt inside you. He knows just how to use it too, and you wheeze slightly as he rocks an inch inside before pulling back again.

“Oh, fuck, baby.” Gaz moans throatily, the vibration of it rumbling right down your spine. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you’re so tight.”

“Mph,” You manage to make a muffled sort of sound against the couch cushion your face is pressed against, your mouth hanging softly open as you pant for breath.

True to his word, Gaz just presses the first inch or so inside. You almost hold your breath, waiting for the rest to slide inside and split you open, but he doesn’t. He just rocks back and forth, just missing hitting the spot inside that makes your nerves sing.

You wish, stupidly, fervently, that just this once Gaz would go back on his word. That he’d abandon his promise to just stick that first inch of his cock inside, that he’d slam home and stretch you wide and let his cock brush against the nerves just a little deeper inside you. But that’s not Gaz’s style; you know he’s not going to give you any more unless you beg for it.

Gaz rocks his hips in teeny tiny movements, just enough to have you squirming in frustration. You’re so wet that you know he could slide deeper with ease if he only just tilted his hips right, but he remains doggedly steadfast in pumping just the barest inch into you, groaning with the effort it’s taking to stop himself plunging fully inside.

“Oh god,” He breathes, sounding wrecked in your ear. “You feel even better than I remember.”

You don’t know how he can even say that when he’s barely even inside you, but no matter how much you wiggle and squirm, he just won’t slide any deeper.

“You’re such an asshole.” You slur out against the fabric of the couch, your cheek squished against the cushions. Your chin is a little wet – are you drooling?

Infuriatingly, Gaz doesn’t even argue.

“Mm.” He grunts, kissing the curve of your neck. “What’d I do this time?”

The fact that he has the gall to ask only irritates you further. You let out a quiet, grumbling noise, but his hand grips at your hip and stops you from writhing.

“Just… just put the rest of it in.” You say, craning your neck to try and look at him.

Your eyes are wide and wet, pathetically teary. You’ve been craving intimacy like this for weeks now. Maybe longer, if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s the kind of pleasure you’ve only ever gotten from Gaz, and you wheeze as your body opens up under his touch. God, you don’t know how you thought anyone would ever be able to fuck you like Gaz does.

“Mm, you sure, baby?” He murmurs, nosing against the back of your skull. “Thought we were just cuddling.”

“Don’t be a dick.” You snap, your patience reaching the end of its tether.

He just laughs, a breathless sort of amused gasp, before snapping his hips forward in one sharp movement and seating his cock inside you. Though it’s what you had been demanding, the abruptness of it startles you and you yowl, your back arching.

“Sh, sh, shh, sorry, love.” Gaz pants, before sighing in wordless contentment as his broad chest curves around your back, his strong arm looping around your belly. “Oh, fuck. Missed this so much, you have no idea. I swear you were made for me, I couldn’t fit as well inside anyone else.”

“Just– just move.” You whine, a little plaintive. It’s humiliating how desperate you are, but there’s no turning back now. “Please, Kyle–”

Gaz pitches into movement instantly, as though he’s got something to prove. Or maybe he’s just worried that you’re going to change your mind. His hips pull back then snap forward again, and again.

He’s so strong, his rhythm steady enough to rock you wildly back and forth on the lumpy couch cushions. You clutch at the fabric beneath you, gasping as his arm pulls you back and keeps you pinned against his hot, hard chest.

“Oh.” You breathe, tilting your head back with a pathetic little whimper as he fucks into you from behind, the two of you plastered together like sardines in the tiny can that is your sitting room couch.

This is just what you needed, you think a little wildly. God, you’ve been craving physical touch like this for months, since the last time you had seen Gaz. It’s galling to admit that any other man is a poor substitute, unable to fill the void that your ex-boyfriend has left in your life.

“Kyle,” You whine, searching for something. You don’t even know what you’re asking for, but Gaz is as patient with you as ever.

He just hums, leaning in over your shoulder and pressing hot, hungry kisses along your jawline where it’s exposed as you lean your head back. The arm that’s been wrapped around your belly coasts lower, until his big lovely hand is pressed against your cunt. His fingers search for your clit and find it easily, confident and familiar enough with your body that he barely even has to try to make you feel good.

Gaz coos soothingly at you and rolls your clit between his fingers as his thrusts begin to come faster and harder; he builds up a steady rhythm, one that lets him sink as deep inside of you as possible and quickly renders you speechless. The living room is soon filled with wet slapping sounds from where Gaz is pounding into you from behind, the grunts and pants and moans that both of you make rapidly drowning out the stupid action sequence playing out on the television from the long forgotten film.

Unbelievably, you feel a sweet stirring in your lower belly already. It’s with a sense of tired resignation that you acknowledge you’re going to come on Gaz’s dick, despite your original intentions for the evening. Typical.

But he’s not going to last either, judging by the strained moans in your ear.

“Shit,” He curses, and then his teeth sink into the side of your neck. You shudder, the feeling of him sucking a harsh hickey into your throat sending electric sparks racing through your nerves.

You think, judging from the desperate edge to Gaz’s humping into you from behind, that Gaz has been yearning in your absence in the same way you have for him. You’re biting on your lip hard in an effort to stifle the plaintive, wanting little moans that are threatening to spill over, but your attempts at quieting yourself are mostly unsuccessful. It makes you feel a little crazy, but Gaz doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, the evidence that you want him too only seems to encourage him.

Your eyes are half-closed as you fuck your hips back on Gaz’s cock, relishing the satisfied little cries he’s emitting into the back of your neck. You clutch clumsily at the strong arm he has wrapped around your belly, crying out yourself as the head of his cock hits that one spot inside you that makes you feel gooey inside. Your toes curl as your head tips back, your skull neatly cradled in the space between Gaz’s head and the couch cushions as he peppers kisses along the side of your neck.

The wet slapping of your bodies colliding is obscene in the quiet of the room; the stupid film still playing does nothing to drown it out. Your body is as limp and relaxed as a doll, allowing him to fuck into you from behind in a frenzy. Right now, you can’t even recall why you ever would have tried to deny yourself this pleasure in the first place.

His hips clap against your ass, those wet sounds getting even louder and more obscene than ever. Gaz is viscerally pleased with the way your ass bounces every time he fucks into you, because he moans and picks up the pace as if he just wants to watch your glutes jiggle every time his hips slap against you.

That familiar ball of tension starts tightening in your abdomen, your body winding up for a long-awaited and much needed release. It’s so typical that this orgasm feels like it’s going to be a big one too, as though your body needed Gaz to be there to guide you through it in order to achieve proper satisfaction.

But then, in a move so infuriating you almost burst into tears, Gaz pulls out and leaves you high and dry.

“No!” You blurt, and it comes out almost as a wail. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, baby.” Gaz says a little breathlessly. “Need you to turn over. Want to see you.”

As soon as you realise that he’s not trying to stop and that he’s just trying to reposition you, you’re quick to roll over so that you’re facing him. It seems like that’s exactly what he wanted, because he grins wide and reaches for your hips, eagerly pulling you closer.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He mumbles, his eyes like warm caramelised honey as they track over your face.

You’re pretty sure he’s full of shit; you’re panting like you’ve run a marathon, you’re sweaty, your hair is dishevelled, and you’re still wearing the ugly sweatshirt you had put on earlier. Yet, even still, Gaz’s genuine little compliment has your heart flipping in your ribcage.

You can’t help but think that you and Gaz are like feral little animals right now. You can barely keep your hands off each other; now that you’ve rolled over to face him, his hands are roaming over your hips and ass like he’s trying to memorise the feel of you by touch alone.

Embarrassingly, you’re no better – you lunge forward to kiss him, taking advantage of your new position, and he kisses you back hungrily.

Lying sideways on the couch like this is cramped, but Gaz uses his hand on your ass to tug you closer. Then he reaches down, long fingers gripping at your thigh before he pulls it up so that your leg is hitched over his hip.

Oh no, You barely have time to think it before his cock is pressing into you again, the slide made easy this time. Too intimate!

The panicked thought is swiftly dispelled the moment Gaz starts moving again, because goddamn this position is so much better. It’s almost difficult to tell where Gaz ends and you begin, so intertwined are your bodies. Gaz barely even allows for an inch of space. He fucks into you almost as soon as he’s pulled back, making for a fast, frantic pace that barely even gives you a chance to breathe.

You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you rock your hips mindlessly into his rough, almost animalistic thrusts. Your leg hitched over his hip means that he’s grinding into you deep, deeper than you thought was possible.

The way the two of you are fucking feels a little bit unhinged, rutting and humping your bodies together in search of mutual pleasure. It should be clumsy and graceless, yet somehow it feels good, as though your body remembers exactly how good Gaz has always treated you, as though your whole being is having a Pavlovian response to his touch. Pleasure burns in your gut, tight and hot, and you moan stupidly as Gaz pounds into you.

“Oh god.” You say without meaning to. The sound of your voice shocks you; you sound wrecked, as though you’ve been fucking for hours. It would have been embarrassing to reveal just how affected you were if Gaz wasn’t also clearly just as eager for it.

“Yeah,” He says, a hybrid of a groan and a gasp muffled against your lips as he clutches at your ass and drives into you wildly. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

You are too, you realise wildly. You’re struck by how quickly you’ve both gotten to this point. This whole encounter has been frenzied and feverish, as though the poorly stifled desire between you had turned explosive.

Gaz kisses you again, and his teeth clack against yours slightly as he licks into your mouth. It’s messy and wet, and it sends a delicious throb of pleasure shooting through your belly. He’s acting so possessive that it’s making your head spin. It should definitely be sending warning bells ringing in your head, or red alarms flashing in your minds eye – it can’t be a good thing that your ex-boyfriend is currently fucking you on your couch like he’s trying to claim you. But you’re apparently a little stupid and very weak, and Gaz has always known how to fuck you dopey and thoughtless. Instead of worry, you get the edges of an orgasm beginning to fizz in your peripheral awareness.

Your pussy must flutter or tighten around him as that lovely sweet promise of release edges closer, because Gaz moans in anticipation and his eager thrusts take on an edge of purpose. You almost protest when he breaks off the kiss, but then you realise that he just wants to be able to focus on keeping his rhythm steady. It’s frenzied and hot, and you swear the air itself is crackling as he kisses sloppily at your neck and fucks you hard.

“Love you,” He slurs in your ear, breathless. “Love you so much, baby.”

His thrusts turn more shallow and far more forceful the closer he gets. Little moans and whines escape his lips between kisses, the sounds ratcheting up in intensity as the two of you rut together.

“Tell me you love me,” He pleads, “Please— tell me you fuckin’ love me, baby. I know you do. I know you—”

You shouldn’t say it. You can’t say it. Yet his cock is fucking you sloppy and stupid, and your mouth moves before you even register that you’re speaking.

“Love you too,” You whimper like a pathetic little idiot, revelling in the exquisite feeling of him grinding against your g-spot just right. It feels so good, you know you’re so, so close to orgasm.

The ache in your abdomen persists— you clench tightly around his cock, your body straining as the muscles in your core clench, trying so hard to push yourself closer to the orgasm you know is coming. You’re so close, so so close— it burns, aches, drives you mad. All you can do is mewl, wrapping your arms around his muscled shoulders as he pounds into you despite the awkward angle.

You can feel your clit throbbing, pulsing, your entire body trying so goddamn hard to climax that you feel like you’re about to cry. You’re burning beneath your skin and all you want to do is gnash your teeth into the elegant line of Gaz’s throat, to leave some kind of indelible mark on his lovely smooth skin.

“Please, please, please— yes, fuck— oh, Kyle,” Your words come out on the breath of an uneven gasp, stuttering with each movement of his hips, perfectly synchronized.

His voice is low and hot in your ear as he pants, “Let me come inside you, baby— let me, please— fuck.”

You should say no. Every logical part of you knows that you should tell him to pull out, and yet the wires are crossed when it comes to your actual response. Your leg tightens around his waist, heart seizing in protest at the idea of him pulling out.

“Yes.” You gasp, continuing your streak of impulsive decision-making. Your own hips twitch forward in weak little humps in an effort to fuck yourself onto his cock, your clit grinding against the dark curls at his pubic bone. “Yes, inside, please–”

Your breathy, eager permission seems to give him a burst of energy. He picks up the pace, his body curving into you as his arms wrap around you in a tight embrace. It feels as though your entire world has been narrowed down to Gaz, his broad shoulders blocking out your view of the rest of the room. You cling to him, breathless and messy as you whimper like a loser, your body trembling from the toe-curling zings of pleasure that keep shooting up your spine.

“Oh, oh.. Kyle, please–” You practically sob, your fingernails digging harshly into his shoulders. “Love you, love you, oh my god, I’m gonna come–”

Gaz grunts, obviously eager as his movements grow thoughtful and determined. He knows exactly what you want, what you need at this moment. His abdominal muscles tense and flex with every calculated, deliberate thrust. There is no way to escape the length of him moving hard and thick inside you – not that you want to escape so much as a second of it, of course.

“That’s my girl, always so fucking perfect.” He snarls as your body eagerly takes every dirty roll of his hips, palming at your thigh where it’s hitched over his hip. “Fuckin’ Christ, I’ve been dreaming of your cunt for fucking months, never wanted anything else–”

It makes no sense. Absolutely no sense, that those bizarre, lust-crazed possessive words are what drag you trembling, screaming over the crest of an orgasm so intense the walls of the room white out, each sweeping pulse leaving you unable to do anything but clench and shudder and arch beneath him.

Gaz fucks you like a damn machine; he gives you long, deep strokes over and over as you’re falling apart. Your body seizes around the hot flesh of Gaz’s cock, your mind going white as your cunt spasms, your hole clamping down and pulsing with every desperate, loud moan torn from your mouth.

You feel like a sloppy little slut, your hips jerking towards him instead of away even as your orgasm washes through you and leaves your body tender and oversensitive. It feels so damn good to feel your mind washing blank and clear, not a single thought taking hold.

When the toe-curling height of pleasure subsides, you find your nerves frayed and hyper-sensitive. A plaintive whine breaks out of your throat as Gaz keeps fucking you, beginning to thrust up frantically into your twitching pussy. Your body falls limp as Gaz bounces your pliable, warm body up and down his cock as he groans into your ear.

It’s like the rhythmic tightening of your drooling, creaming cunt has him losing his mind, because he grabs the meat of your hips and begins jerking your limp body back towards him. The slap slap slap! of the impact is so loud that every slap makes your breath catch.

“Fuck. I'm—” Your hands slap clumsily at his shoulders, reaching for anything to hold on to, but he doesn’t stop. "Kyle. Kyle—" It’s just your voice, hoarse, breathless, and Gaz bearing down on you, the sound of your bodies somehow growing sloppier, messier as he fucks you and it’s uncompromising, just skirting the edge of painfully overwhelming—

He breaks, shoulders trembling, head bowed into the curve of your neck as he lets out a long, desperate moan. It’s a drawn out, rough groan that is more sob than pleasure, and then you feel him inside you, spilling red hot and wet. Your own orgasm still isn’t fully finished, rolling leisurely through you in little aftershocks, your body still tightening and shivering, and it goes on and on and on.

He holds on to you throughout, as if he’s worried he’ll blow away into the wind without anchoring himself to you. His hips slow, but don’t fully stop. He rolls his hips into you slowly, leisurely, as though he has all the time in the world as he shivers in his come down. You blink, waiting for the colour to bleed back into your vision and for the ringing in your ears to stop, and for the first time all night you’re not thinking about anything at all.

“Please, Kyle.” You slur out stupidly. You have no idea what you’re even asking for; there’s just some vague, barely formed desperation floating around your painfully blank mind as you search for something.

“Mm.” Gaz hums. It feels like he’s everywhere, his broad chest filling up your sight and enveloping you. His hands roam over your body: the backs of your thighs, squeezing as his hands drift over your ass, up and down your back, your neck, his fingers catching around the thin strands of hair and the back of your neck, until finally he settles his fingers on your cheeks.

His palms stay there, just cupping your cheeks as the two of you struggle to regulate your breathing and regain your composure. That antsy sense of desperation eases a little when he leans in to nuzzle fondly at your face, dropping sweet little kisses along your cheeks and nose.

Gaz’s chest rumbles with a low, lovely laugh, his voice gravelly from his climax. “You’re overflowing, sweetheart.”

You let out a careless little sigh, before relaxing experimentally. You can feel a gush of warm seed begin to ooze out around Gaz’s cock, spilling out of your entrance and coating his balls. You wriggle lazily, cunt still pulsing as your wildly beating heart gradually slows to a lazy flutter.

You think you should probably be panicking now. You’ve just fucked your ex, told him you loved him, then let him come inside. With no condom. God, you’re stupid. But the wave of horror you’re expecting never comes. You feel too floaty to care; you suspect if it was anyone other than Gaz, the mortification would have knocked into you like a sledgehammer.

“You’re gonna get cum on the couch.” You complain, the words coming out clumsy on your tongue.

Gaz just snorts. He makes no effort to pull out, and you have no desire to push him away. The intimacy of your sweat-slick skin pressed together is enough to take your breath away, and it’s only further compounded by the sensation of his cock gradually softening inside you.

“I’ll get it cleaned, love.” He drawls lazily, leaning in to kiss your swollen lips. “Or pay for a new one. Whichever you want.”

When you kiss him back he sighs fondly, one thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You’re still limp in his arms, boneless and spent as you wriggle greedily into his arms. His cock is still lodged inside you, and you’re sure he must be getting uncomfortably sensitive but to your relief he just moans in quiet appreciation when you try to worm your way closer.

“You made a mess.” You mumble against his lips.

You’re being a little unfair, considering your own slick is coating your thighs and Gaz’s lower belly, but Gaz has always rolled with even the most unreasonable attitude you’ve thrown his way. So he just chuckles, and you feel a little insane as you wonder if anyone else would ever be as patient with you.

“Think we both did, doll.” He murmurs fondly. He leans in and catches your lips with his again, kissing you slowly with a lazy, lewdly open mouth. One hand curls against the nape of your neck, the other hand reaching up beneath your sweater and curling possessively against your left tit, sweeping over your sluggish, sated heartbeat.

You feel practically brainless after your orgasm, relaxed and loose in Gaz’s arms. There’s something to be said for how safe you feel with him, as much as you’d like to deny it, but reality is starting to slowly sink in.

You pull away from his mouth to try and collect yourself, unable to think when he’s kissing you like that.

“Fuck.” You breathe, closing your eyes with a sigh. It’s slow, but you’re finally starting to think again. “We shouldn’t– we should have used a condom.”

Gaz’s eyes are lidded with fond amusement as he watches you quietly. His hand kneads at your breast absent-mindedly, as though he’s forgotten that he’s groping at you.

“Don’t overthink it,” He murmurs, kissing your forehead again. “I saw your box of pills in the bathroom. And I’m clean. Haven’t been with anyone but you.”

You tremble a little at his admission, your fingers digging into his shoulders. You feel like you’re losing your mind. Gaz is the most beautiful man you’ve ever met, funny and sweet and always so caring. You love him, even if it kills you a little to admit it, and you don’t know how to respond to his admission that he’s been faithful to you during the long months you weren’t together.

Gaz misinterprets whatever expression is on your face, thumb stroking soothingly over your cheek again. “We can get you a morning-after pill, if it’ll make you feel better.”

You don’t bother correcting him. You’re not that fussed over the morning-after pill – you’re careful when it comes to your birth control, and Gaz had always cum inside you when you were together. The weight of his cock inside you is comforting almost, the wet slide of his cum dripping out of you makes you feel as though you’d never been apart in the first place. You wonder how you could ever have been thick enough to think that someone else could fill Gaz’s place in your life.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, Gaz’s lips twitch. “That pillock you brought home would’ve been such a disappointment, darling.”

You can’t stop your eyes from rolling, exasperated.

“You don’t know that.” You grumble, though you don’t pull away. You’re still all curled up against his chest, skin still slick and sticky from rapidly cooling sweat, your leg still slung over Gaz’s hip to keep his now-soft cock nestled inside you.

“Sure I do.” He says, and that cocky arrogance that both drives you mad and makes you swoon is rearing its head. He reaches down, and his thick fingers roll over your much-too-sensitive clit. “She missed me, gorgeous. Don’t think she would have liked some strange tosser pounding away at her with no idea how to please her.”

The way he talks about your pussy as though it has its own thoughts and feelings has you rolling your eyes again, though your cheeks burn with embarrassment. To your immense irritation, you think he might have a point. You haven’t come that hard in months, not since the breakup.

“Oh, shut up.” You sigh tiredly.

He snickers, and then shifts. It takes you a moment to realise that he’s pulling his hips back preparing to pull out. Your brain stalls, and you wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders in protest. You’re not ready to feel the invasive, aching emptiness that will no doubt throb through your core as soon as he’s not filling you up.

“Stay.” You say, and it comes out as an embarrassingly breathy little plea.

Gaz goes practically limp, as though your hoarse request had taken the wind right out of him. You’re not expecting the way he brings both arms around your waist before rolling over onto his back, hauling you up to lay over his chest. His cock remains firmly lodged inside you, though the movement has resulted in his white creamy spend leaking out onto your inner thighs.

“Not going nowhere.” He mumbles, one hand stroking over your flank to soothe you. “I’m on leave for at least a month.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Gaz hums. He must sense that this is a delicate moment, because he doesn’t make any ribald jokes about having all month to fuck you like you’re expecting him to. He just presses a tender kiss to your temple, his lips lingering gently.

Usually, you’d probably be a little embarrassed by how clingy you’re being. You had been so damn determined not to fall into bed with Gaz after the breakup, but you’re so, so weak. His stupid honey brown eyes and gorgeous dimples and crooked grin is enough to send you to your knees. You rest your forehead against his chest as he holds you close; at least like this, you can’t see his stupid handsome face.

He’s obviously pleased with the way you’re snuggling into him, because his chest rumbles as he hums in satisfaction. He’s holding you tight like he thinks you’re going to slip away the moment he blinks.

“You okay?” He asks quietly.

You don’t answer immediately. There’s no way to brush this under the carpet, or to go back to pretending at detached disinterest. If you had wanted to play this off as just a bit of stress relief, then you should have rolled away from him the second he’d spilled inside of you rather than cuddling with him on the couch. There’s no way that you can claim that this was just a case of needing to get laid; you’re still clutching at him like a limpet, the two of you intertwined so tight that it’s difficult to tell when your limbs end and Gaz’s begin.

“I’m tired.” You sigh eventually, sidestepping the conversation that you know you’ll have to deal with eventually.

No doubt Gaz notices your not particularly subtle avoidance, but he doesn’t comment. He seems quite happy to indulge your every whim; he probably wants to avoid the this-was-a-mistake-and-we-need-to-maintain-boundaries conversation even more than you do.

“Let’s get you to bed then,” He murmurs, and then he surprises you by sitting up. You’re still laid out across his chest, which means that when he shimmies up into a sitting position, you end up sitting sprawled in his lap.

You’re still speared a little awkwardly on his soft cock, the sensation of him inside you making your eyelids flutter a little. You feel satisfied, your muscles still watery and weak, and you sigh a little mournfully when Gaz finally pulls his cock out of you. You ache, a deep throb that both stokes and settles you. It’s like a comfortable little reminder that Gaz was here, and that he left his mark on you.

You can feel the way he leans back just to get a glimpse of his spend trickling down the inside of your thigh. You pout and bury your face into his throat, your arms wrapped tight around his shoulders still as you try to hide your sudden self-consciousness.

But Gaz isn’t interested in giving you a moment to hide. You feel the edge of his teeth ghost the shell of your ear before he speaks, just low enough to make you shiver.

“Let me take you out tomorrow, sweetheart.” He says, and beneath his usual cocky countenance you hear the edge of a plea. “I’ll make up for ruining your date tonight. You can wear that little dress from earlier for me again.”

You feel exposed, stripped bare as you perch in Gaz’s lap. His hand strokes evenly over your spine, waiting patiently for your response.

“I want a fancy dinner.” You mumble, your fingers curling around his shoulders. “At a nice restaurant.”

You hear a shaky little exhale, and Gaz’s arms tighten around your waist. It strikes you that he’s relieved, and you feel your heart tremble in response. The knowledge that he wants you still is enough to have your own lungs seizing in response; you can’t quite bear to wonder if you’ve been wasting time for these past few months that you’ve been broken up.

“Whatever you want.” He says it like a prayer, tilting his head in search of your lips again.

The kiss is easy, the months that you’ve been apart dissolving into nothing. You’re a little too stubborn to give in entirely and beg for him back just yet though, but you doubt it matters. You’ve already admitted your weakness for him in the middle of shagging, and you’re not stupid enough to hope that he’s somehow forgotten it. You’ve been trying so hard to shove all those feelings down deep, but you’re not too surprised that they’ve all come bubbling out. He’s got a month of leave. You have no doubt that he’s going to use that time to change your mind. You find that you don’t mind the idea as much as you thought you might; you suspect that you can be swayed all too easily.

You peek up at him, only to come face to face with his sweet, hopeful deep brown eyes. He’s not pushing, but you can see the weight of desire and yearning in every inch of his face. No doubt it’s mirrored on your own. You don’t think you could ever look into his pretty face and deny him anything.

You hum, then whisper the only answer you could ever give.

“Yeah. Okay. It’s a date, then.”

#why was it so hard to find a cute pic of him with no big fuckin union jack splashed across him #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #cod smut #cod fic #kyle gaz garrick

3K notes · View notes

offside-the-lines · 6 days

Text

Give my all to you | Nico Hischier

Summary: It's been two years since Aurora was set up on an unwanted surprise date with Nico. He's become her best friend and her son's favorite person. Aurora finds herself wondering if this truly is all she wants from him. Title inspo: Best Part by HER & Daniel Caeser

This fic is dedicated to @wyattjohnston for her birthday bingo. Happy birthday, Demi! You are an absolute gift to this community and to my life. I hope you have the best day. Here's to 30!!! 💖 Pairing: Nico Hischier x F!OC Word count: 5.8k Bingo card tropes: match-making, single parent, FREE (friends to lovers), sworn-off love, coworkers (barely mentioned tho lol oops). Warnings: Kid fic! The kid does get injured, but he is okay! (Please let me know if I missed something) Some Swiss German words used: Schätzli (little treasure), Bärli (little bear). This fic is un-beta-ed coz I wasn't about to make you edit your own b'day fic. LOL Masterlist

I. THE PAST

Aurora has always hated being late, even when it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her fault the production meeting ran late. It wasn’t her fault that there was something wrong with the subway line she needed to take. It wasn’t her fault that her bag strap decided to snap, spilling its contents onto the busy 8th Avenue sidewalk halfway through her approximately twenty-block walk. She had texted Nicole to let her know she was running late; she didn’t have the wherewithal to consider how strange it was that she never got a response.

By the time she had gotten to the restaurant, she was sweating and looking forward to a cold drink. Which is why she was even more annoyed when she couldn’t find Nicole in the restaurant. It was garnering her strange looks from the maitre d’ who had told her there was no reservation under either of their names.

Aurora checked the location twice before stepping back onto the street and pressing ‘call’ on her phone. It was a precarious balancing act, with her bag grasped to her chest.

There was no response.

As she pressed ‘call’ again, her eyes caught sight of Nico Hischier. A pit was beginning to form in her stomach as she began to realize what was happening.

No response.

At that moment, Nico looked up and caught her eye. His smile and wave all but confirmed her suspicions.

She quickly typed out a message as she ventured back inside.

To Nicole 💁🏼‍♀️: nicole laud, what the fuck have you done. if this is what i think it is, im going to fucking kill you.

“Hi, Aurora!” Nico smiled; it was endearing, the way it dimpled his cheeks and crinkled his eyes. He stood up to give her a hug and pulled the chair out for her.

“Nico,” she said, “It’s nice to see you! Although I’m a little caught off-guard, I’m not gonna lie.”

He scrunched his brows. “Oh? What do you mean?”

“Nicole didn’t tell you?” She paused, examining his confused expression, and sighed. “She didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Look, Nico, I don’t know what Nicole told you to get you to come here, but this is not that. I thought I was meeting her for dinner, but it seems this has been some sort of setup. I’m really sorry if that’s not what you were expecting. Especially after waiting for me, which, I hope she at least did you the courtesy of passing along the message that I was running late?”

“She did,” Nico said.

“Well, at least there’s that,” she sighed, “I know you’re a great guy and everything, but I’m really not looking to date. At all. I mean, even if I was, I don’t date coworkers. I’m really sorry. She shouldn’t’ve done this. We can just call this a night if you want.”

Nico let a brief flicker of disappointment cross his face before schooling his expression into a soft smile. “Well, I mean, we’re already here, and you look like you might need a drink and some food. We can just have dinner as friends. Or colleagues if that’s what you prefer. I don’t mind either way. It’s up to you.”

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her of just how long it had been since she’d last eaten.

“Yeah, okay,” she said, “I’m pretty hungry, and I was really looking forward to the gnocchi.”

Despite the way the evening started, Aurora admits she had a good time. Nico was easy to talk to: open, attentive, and responsive. Maybe it was just the bottle of wine they shared, but it was rare for her to get as comfortable with someone so quickly as she did with Nico. How quickly they were both willing to share the deeply personal stories they usually kept to themselves.

Nico talked about what it was like to leave his family and move to a new country as a teenager. He shared stories of his siblings and his childhood in Switzerland. He confided in Aurora about the pressures and joys of being named an NHL captain so young.

Something about Nico made her feel safe enough to share her life story. It was rare for her to talk about her son with someone who was practically a stranger. But she found herself telling Nico about the ex-boyfriend who broke her heart at the age of 20, disappearing when she was in the third trimester of her pregnancy.

Nico indulged her by asking her question after question about Theo; admittedly, it’s always her favorite topic of conversation. Nico seemed genuine when he mentioned that he looked forward to meeting him, even going as far as offering to take her son skating for the first time. It was a nice thought, but she didn’t think he would follow through on it.

The time passed quickly, and soon, her phone alarm was alerting her that it was time to relieve the babysitter.

“Ah, shit,” Aurora said, “I need to get going.”

“No problem. Do you need a ride?” Nico asked, smiling warmly.

“No, it’s okay. Should we get the check?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nico said, shaking his head, “I got this.”

“Come on,” she prodded.

“No, no. I feel bad; you were absolutely ambushed today. It’s the least I could do.”

The earnestness on his face made her pause, eventually relenting. “Okay, fine. Thank you.”

“No problem! I’m serious, though. I would really like to be friends. And I would love to take Theo skating.” He took out his phone and handed it over. “Here, type in your number, and we’ll figure out a time to make it happen.”

“Okay,” she said. She felt warm and bubbly; his smile settled her for some reason.

Later that night, after she had gotten home and checked in on her son, she responded to the two unread messages on her phone.

From [Unknown number]: It’s Nico! Lemme know if you got home okay! When do you wanna do skating? To Nico 😈: home! weekends are usually a good bet for us. especially before the reg season starts. From Nico 😈: How’s next Sunday? Maybe after practice. I can reserve some ice time at the rink.

From Nicole 💁🏼‍♀️: he thinks you’re cute! you should give it a shot. he’s a really good guy. To Nicole 💁🏼‍♀️: i know you were trying to help, but that was kinda fucked. he IS a great guy, and i think we WILL be good friends. but i’m still really pissed that you ambushed me like that. From Nicole 💁🏼‍♀️: i’m sorry. i didn’t think it through. To Nicole 💁🏼‍♀️: it’s okay. just don’t do it again.

II. THE PRESENT

[two years later]

Aurora watches as Nico chases Theo around the rink; with all the time he spends on the ice with Nico, he’s getting so good. As they skate past, Nico slows to send her a smile. She waves back.

She hears someone sit down in the seat next to her, and she doesn’t need to even turn to check who.

“Teddy’s getting good,” Nicole says.

“Yeah, he is.” Her gaze never leaves the boys going round and round the ice.

“Must be all the help he’s getting from our dearest Captain,” she laughs.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know.” She knocks her shoulder into Aurora’s. “First overall. Captain of the NHL team. Not everyone gets dedicated skating lessons from someone like that.”

Aurora doesn’t respond to that, but she does let her eyes drift over the other players on the ice: Curtis with his kids, Erik with his kids, Brendan with his kids… She swallows the lump in her throat.

“When are you and Jesp gonna have kids?” she asks.

“Shut up,” Nicole laughs, “You’re deflecting.”

“Deflecting from what?”

“Fine, we can talk about something else,” Nicole sighs. “When are you going to start dating again?”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe we have to go over this again. I don’t want to date. At all.”

“Oh, come on,” she whines, “Teddy’s seven already. It’s time. When was the last time you even got laid?”

Aurora doesn’t respond, focusing on the squeals of laughter and the scraping of blades on ice.

“Rory, I just want you to be happy,” Nicole continues gently.

“I am happy. I’ve got a great kid who I love,” she grinds out, “I just want to focus on him. He’s enough.”

“I know, Rory. Of course, he is, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t want more.”

“Well, I don’t,” she pouts. She knows it doesn’t come off nearly as resolute as she intends it to.

“I don’t believe you,” Nicole says; she sounds so sure. “You’re a romantic, Rory. You’re always reading those books and watching the shows and movies.”

When Aurora doesn’t respond, she sighs, adding, “When are you going to stop punishing yourself? And don’t say that you’re not. I know you still beat yourself up about it. You’re a great mom, Aurora. You can still be a great mom while dating.”

They let the silence linger.

“I don’t want to introduce new people into Theo’s life. I don’t want to have to explain to him why these men come and go from our lives,” she responds finally.

“Things don’t have to happen like that, you know?”

“Like what?”

“New guys coming and going.”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t have to be someone new at all,” Nicole says carefully.

Aurora finally tears her eyes away from the rink and finds Nicole’s eyes boring into her own. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Oh, come on, Aurora,” she says, rolling her eyes, “Be so fucking for real right now.”

Aurora just keeps glaring at her.

“Okay, fine, be like that,” Nicole huffs. “Be honest, how much time do you two spend with Nico? Like, every day when he’s not on a road trip, right? Nico’s down as his second emergency contact at school. He was a new guy at one point, but he sure isn’t going anywhere.”

“Nico’s different,” Aurora says, grinding her teeth together as she turns back towards the ice.

Her eyes immediately find Nico; he’s leaning over the bench so casually, so easily, as he helps Theo with his water bottle. When he looks up, his gaze locks with hers as if he knows exactly where to look. He smiles, and she can see his dimples even from here. She feels herself smiling back. A laugh bubbles in the column of her throat when he turns back to stick his tongue out at her son.

Nicole snorts. “Yeah, he’s different, alright.”

“Yeah,” Aurora sighs, not at all picking up on the subtext. “He is. Not every guy is like him. God, I don’t even know if there are any guys like him.”

Nicole hums, “Uh-huh. So, why won’t you date Nico?”

Aurora’s head whips around so fast she has to blink at her friend for a second.

“Nico’s a really good friend. That’s it. And that’s all it will ever be,” she bites out.

“You know, he agreed to go on that date with—” She cuts herself off when she sees Aurora’s glare. “Okay, I know we don’t talk about it, but just hear me out. He wanted to go on that date with you. He’s into you.”

“Yeah, he was,” Aurora says, shaking her head. “That’s before he knew I had a full kid who I am responsible for 24 hrs a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. No one wants to walk into that situation. Someone like Nico definitely doesn’t want—”

“I’m gonna cut you off right there,” Nicole says. “Nico literally has lunch with you at work most days he’s here. He takes Teddy skating as much as he can. He goes with you two to museums, or zoo, or whatever, almost every week. He helps you make dinner and watches kid shows like Paw Patrol. Like, I just don’t understand why you refuse to see this, but he’s all in, Rory.”

Aurora feels her throat tighten and tries to cool the heat in her cheeks.

“Yeah, as I said. Nico’s a great person. He’s probably the best person I know. But he’s a 25-year-old NHL player. He doesn’t even date ‘cause he wants to focus on his career. He certainly doesn’t want to be tied down to a family already.”

“Oh my god,” Nicole laughs humorlessly, “Like, serious! Do you hear yourself?”

Aurora just keeps glaring back at her.

Nicole shakes her head. “You know, he used to date, right? Or, at least, hook up. Jesper says he hasn’t seen Nico pick up in well over a year. What do you think that’s about? You got an excuse for that, too?”

And for once, she doesn’t know how to respond. She didn’t know that. She has always assumed that he didn’t pick up when she was around, so she can let loose a little without having to worry about Theo too much, knowing that Nico has her back. She has always assumed that he hooked up on the road. And she doesn’t know what to do with this information.

Luckily, she doesn’t need to, as a loud thump makes her jump.

Theo’s banging on the glass in front of her with the biggest grin on his face. Nico leans against the glass a few feet over, beaming at him.

“Hi, mama!” he yells, “Nicki’s teaching me how to use my edges better when I skate backward. See?”

He grins so wide before he puts his hands in front of him, tongue poking out of the side of his mouth, as he begins to wiggle. Aurora admits she has no idea what she’s looking for, but she smiles and cheers all the same. Her eyes flit over to Nico, and he’s tapping his stick; she recognizes the proud look on his face.

She looks away quickly, only to catch Theo losing an edge and falling to the ice. It makes her breath catch every time. Nico raps his knuckles on the glass twice before skating over to check on him. By the time he gets there, Theo’s already back on his feet, doing little hops.

She watches as Nico bends down to talk with him. They skate another lap before heading towards the exit together. She watches as Theo hops up onto the bench, and Nico kneels down to unlace his skates for him. She doesn’t know what they are chatting about, but Theo’s being especially animated.

Aurora is startled when she hears Jesper behind her; she has forgotten Nicole’s there.

“You ready to go, älskling?” he says, bending down to give her a kiss before sending Aurora a smile. “Hi, Rory.”

“Yep!” Nicole stands up, her hands sliding easily into his. She smiles at Aurora. “See ya later, yeah? Think about what I said?”

“No,” she laughs, sticking her tongue out like her son does, “Bye, you blond assholes.”

She watches Nico and Theo go down the tunnel together. Theo’s holding Nico’s hand despite telling her that holding hers was embarrassing; she tries not to be a little hurt by that. She sighs and makes her way over to the locker room.

It doesn’t take long for them to emerge, still sweaty. Theo can’t shower at the rink, so Nico usually also skips the shower so she doesn’t have to wait. Theo chats excitedly on the way to the car. Aurora and Theo had moved into Nico’s apartment building, a few floors down, not long after they had met, so they will carpool occasionally. Those days are always Theo’s favorite.

They hit traffic on the way back, and Theo’s questions and musings gradually fade out until he passes out in the back seat. Nico and Aurora sit in companionable silence for the rest of the drive, both happy to let the kid sleep.

It does mean that Theo is cranky when he is awakened from his nap, refusing to walk and then refusing to let go of Nico to let him shower in his own apartment. She sends him an apologetic look, but he just smiles and shrugs as he carries her son back to their apartment, Theo’s cheek resting on Nico’s shoulder as he blinks at his mom lazily.

She makes dinner as the boys shower, singing and dancing along to a playlist they have been adding to for two years. She feels, more than hears, Nico returning to the kitchen, his hand on her hip, a warm presence at her back, as he watches her stir the creamy chicken pasta. He steals bites off the spatula every now and then, laughing at her mock horror.

Theo has lost all the energy he was filled with only a few hours prior, and it makes dinner a battle. She feels guilty about the way Nico bargains with him to eat the vegetable. She should be able to get Theo to eat his dinner without help, and she knows she absolutely could do it, but it’s nice to have the help.

Besides, Theo wasn’t in the mood to listen to anything she had to say, always looking to Nico for guidance instead. Asking Nico for his bedtime story when the time came for it.

She’s not jealous, anything but. It fills her heart with warmth to see her son so smitten with her best friend. But that doesn’t stop the ache that fills her chest: this could’ve been Theo with his father. He should be getting this with his father. And it’s her fault he isn’t. Every day, Theo grows a little bit more as a person, and while it’s bittersweet, she always wonders if he would be different if he had a dad. If her mistakes are holding him back.

Aurora is startled out of her thoughts when she hears her son’s voice get progressively louder and more upset. She rushed into his room.

“Why not?” Theo whines, his voice wet with tears and his bottom lip trembling.

“Bärli, I—” Nico says, voice wavering and raw. When he turns towards her, he looks white as a sheet, his eyes darting back and forth between Aurora and her son.

“What happened?” she hisses at him as he stands up to give her space on the bed.

“I—I really don’t know. He asked—Never mind, not important right now,” he whispers, nodding at Theo, who is now bawling.

She rushes to her son’s side and pulls him into her arms, shushing him. She presses soft kisses to his forehead and just holds him until his sobbing subsides. Eventually, he tires himself out enough, hiccuping occasionally as his eyes drift close and his body grows heavy. Once she’s sure he’s asleep, she slips out of the room.

Nico is leaning against the wall in the hallway, worrying at his lip. His head snaps up as soon as he hears her exit the room. She pulls him out of the hallway and into the kitchen, the furthest place from her son’s bedroom.

“What the fuck happened in there?” she whispers.

Nico presses the palms of his hands to his eyes. “He asked me—Fuck—He asked me if I was his dad. Obviously, I said no. And then he got really upset, and I don’t know why. I have no idea what happened.”

“What do you mean he asked—How did that even come up?”

“I don’t know,” Nico sighs, finally looking at her. His brows are pinched tight, dark strands of hair falling like a curtain around wet eyes. “He was saying something about the kids at school all having dads. And then he asked me if I had a dad. And then he just asked me, ‘Are you my dad?’ And then he kept asking me why not. Like, ‘Why don’t you wanna be my dad?’ What the fuck am I supposed to say to that, Aurora?” His voice breaking at the end.

She feels the claws of panic dig into her chest, sharp pain in her sternum as her head spins. Technically, it’s not the first time he’s asked that. He used to ask about ‘dads’ a lot when he was a toddler; before he really understood what the word ‘dad’ meant. He hadn’t brought it up in years so she had assumed he was over it.

“Fuck,” she breathes.

“Rory, stop. Don’t apologize.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. He runs his fingers through his beard, a nervous tick she has seen enough times to set her on edge. “When are you going to tell him, Aurora? He deserves to know.”

She clenches her jaw. This is not the first time they’ve talked about this.

“We’ve talked about this, Nico,” she says.

“I know we have, but you’re being selfish, Rory. You should’ve seen his face. He thinks no one wants him.”

Aurora’s heart clenches, the panic spreading through her whole body. She feels the sweat prickling at her back, her neck, her forehead; it makes her itchy all over.

Nico is still talking. “He doesn’t understand why everyone else he knows has two parents, and he doesn’t. He thinks I don’t want him. And I can’t—”

“You can’t what, Nico? Because you don’t have to do anything. You’re right. He’s not your son. What I do or do not tell him is none of your business. You can think I’m selfish, you can think I’m a bad mother, you can think whatever you like. It was none of your business then. It’s none of your business now. It won’t be your business ever,” Aurora hisses, her chest heaving as she rants.

The silence hangs between them, thick and stifling.

“I don’t think I can keep doing this,” Nico says, voice so small and so raw.

And if she felt hot before, she doesn’t anymore; the words feel ice cold in her ears. She’s plunged into freezing water, falling through pristine ice into a frozen lake. Her fingers feel numb where the nails dig into her palms.

“Can’t keep doing what, Nico?” her voice sounds foreign even to her own ears.

He doesn’t answer.

“Can’t keep doing what?” she says, louder, “because I didn’t ask you to do anything, be anything. Don’t worry; you’re under no obligation to be anything to him. So, if you can’t put up with this anymore, then just leave. I won’t be upset. I won’t be anything at all. Because you’re right, you—”

“Schätzli, stop,” he interrupts firmly, “that’s not what I said.” He reaches for her, but she shrugs him off.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But I heard what you meant. I’m fucking up his life, right? Fucked up my own, practically was a teen mom. But that’s not enough. I’m not enough for him.” She doesn’t even register the tears streaming down her face.

“Schätzli—Aurora, please. You know that’s not what I meant,” Nico says, and he might be crying too. His hand keeps coming up, reaching for her, before going back to hanging limply by his side.

“You don’t get to tell me how to parent my son, Nico. You don’t get to tell me that I’m fucking it up.” The words spill out of her mouth, and she has no control over it anymore. Through the tears, she can’t even see his face anymore, can’t see the heartbreak in those brown eyes she loves so much. “You don’t get to say this shit, Nico. Because you’re not his dad. You’re not his anything.”

She hears what may be a sob, but she can’t tell if it’s coming from her own mouth.

“Schätzli,” he whispers, “You don’t mean that.”

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” she says, wiping her eyes.

“Aurora, please, come on. You know that’s not true. You can’t say that after the past—” He takes a breath. “I know this is hard for you. But I’m trying to be here for you. To be what you need.”

“What are you trying to say,” she whispers.

“You have to know I would be anything you asked me to be. You can’t possibly not know that by now.”

“I’ve never asked you to be anything. To me. Or to him. And if you can’t understand that we don’t need anything from you, then you should just leave,” she says through clenched teeth.

“Schätzli,” he pleads.

“Please just—just go.”

“Aurora, I want to be there for you. Both of you. I love Theo. I love—”

“Don’t,” she warns.

Nico sighs. “It’s always been fine that you don’t want me like that. I don’t care about that. It’s fine. But this… This makes me feel kinda fucking used, Aurora. This makes me feel like you think I’m nothing to you. No one. And that’s—Fuck—You need to decide what you want.”

“I’m asking you to leave,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Okay. Fine, I hear you. God, I’m so—” He stops himself, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling for a moment before continuing, “Fuck. Yeah. Okay. I’ll go. I’m leaving.”

Aurora doesn’t respond; she just keeps looking at the floor until he finally sighs and walks out of her apartment. When the door clicks shut, she slides down the wall and sobs into her hands.

III. THE FUTURE

The next few days pass excruciatingly slowly. It’s the longest Nico and Aurora have gone without talking in the two years they’ve known each other. He opens the text thread with Aurora countless times: typing and deleting, typing and deleting, before giving up. Every time he steps into the apartment building’s elevator, he stares at the button for her floor, but he never presses it.

Nico finds himself checking his phone so often that the boys have begun to notice and chirp him for it. He has never had a problem with focus before, always pouring himself into hockey when things go awry. It’s usually the one thing that keeps him centered, but for the past few days, it always feels as if his skates are too tight, the edges too dull, or his stick too short.

It all grinds to a halt when he sees the missed calls, voicemails, and texts from Aurora after an unsuccessful pre-game nap.

It’s Saturday, and Aurora’s exhausted. She can’t remember the last time a week has gone so poorly. For the past few days, it’s felt like everything in her life has been moved one foot to the left: out of place and disorienting. She has been lying awake at night thinking about Nico, playing their conversation over and over again in her head, pouring over the past two years. Every morning, she wakes up feeling more tired than the day before.

Theo’s not been much better. He has been grumpy and whiny. It seems like nothing she does can cheer him up. He asks her at least ten times a day about Nico: where he has been, what he is up to, if we can call him, and when we will see him next. It has been tearing her up inside that she doesn’t have an answer for Theo.

She has only known Nico for two years, and, between away games and the summers, it’s not like they are together every day. She shouldn’t feel his absence so acutely, but she does. She finds herself looking at the empty chair at her dining table and his empty spot on the couch; she feels the ghost of Nico so acutely. It hurts like a phantom limb, a gaping hole in her life, and she doesn’t know what to do about it.

Aurora thinks she’s holding it together until she isn’t.

When it happens, she doesn’t think anything of it. It’s hockey. She’s seen Theo fall during hockey countless times. It looks like any other fall until Theo starts crying, still lying on the ice, clutching his hand. And it’s as if the entire universe focuses in on that one point.

She doesn’t remember getting up from her seat and running down to the bench. She doesn’t remember the conversation with the U8 coach. She doesn’t remember the walk to the car, clutching him so tightly to her chest, despite the fact that he is far too heavy for her to carry now.

She’s trying to calm herself down enough to drive to the hospital, head on the steering wheel, gasping for air, when she hears her son speak up.

“Mama,” Theo says, voice wet and wavering.

“Yes, baby?” she manages to respond.

“Mama, it’s okay. I’m going to be okay. Nico always tells me, when I’m sad or hurt, to take deep breaths. I think you might need to take some deep breaths, Mama,” he says between quiet sobs.

It makes her chest feel cracked open and raw; it takes everything in her body to tamp down the sob that threatens to spill out.

“When did you get so grown up?” she says, her voice sounding thin and reedy.

“Mama, I’m 7. Nico says I’m a big boy now.”

Aurora swallows around the tightness in her throat and tries to take three deep breaths before starting the drive to the hospital.

The panic only subsides long enough to get them to the hospital. By the time they receive the X-ray results, she can hardly process what they are saying. The words “broken arm” and “no surgery” ring loudly in her ears.

Somewhere in her consciousness, she knows she calls Nico. She knows it’s a game day, knows his routine. But some part of her hoped hearing his voice would make things alright, even just a little bit. She calls a few times, pushing down the disappointment when he doesn't answer. It’s a game day. She knows the routine.

She is sitting in the waiting room, staring at her hands clutched tightly in her lap, when she hears Nico’s voice call her name.

She blinks and feels a pair of warm hands envelop hers.

“Hey,” Nico says, kneeling in front of her. “Hey, Schätzli, it’s okay. You’re okay. I got you.”

She deflates like a balloon, tilting forward to tuck her face in his neck as sobs wrack her body. His solid arms envelop her, hands rubbing her back. He keeps murmuring in her ear, a combination of English and Swiss German. She has no idea how long they stay like that, but eventually, she feels the terror and panic begin to subside.

“Nico,” she says softly, “what are you doing here?”

“You called,” he says as if it was the simplest thing in the world. He squeezes her hands.

“Oh god, Nico. Don’t you have a game? What are you doing here? You shouldn’t—”

“Rory, it’s okay. I called out. I told Coach that an emergency came up. I wanted to make sure I was here for you if you needed it.”

“You’re skipping the game? For us?” She swallows down a sob. "For me?”

“Yes, Schätzli. Of course, I did.” He reaches a hand up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Is Theo okay?”

“Yeah,” she hiccups, “he’ll be okay. He broke his arm. And they’re just setting it and putting in a cast to make sure it heals right.”

“I’m so sorry, Schätzli.”

His hand cradles her face gently, wiping at the tears as they fall. There is a long stretch of silence as she leans into his hand.

“How did you get in here? This is the family waiting room,” she asks.

Nico blushes and turns away, mumbling something.

“Sorry, what?”

“I told them I was his dad,” Nico mumbles, rambling, “I didn’t mean to—It’s just, they weren’t letting me in. They said it was family only. So I had to tell them that. I’m sorry; I totally overstepped. I didn’t mean to. I get it if you’re mad—”

Aurora reaches out a finger and presses it to his lips. He stops abruptly, eyes wide.

“It’s okay, Nico. I’m not upset,” she says. She takes a deep breath, and with sudden clarity, she asks, “Is that something you might want to be one day?”

“What?” he squeaks.

“Theo’s dad.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, God, I hope I’m not reading this wrong. But—Well, earlier this week, you said I needed to decide what I wanted. And I just kept thinking about that conversation and how unfair I was to you—to us—by totally underplaying the past two years. ‘Cause they’ve been two of the best years.

“Theo loves you. I love you. You are the second most important person in my life, and I’m sorry it took this mess of a week to realize that,” she sighs. “I don’t know what I’ve been so afraid of. Or what I was waiting for. But it’s so clear to me now that you have been there the whole time. You never asked or expected anything of me. And maybe I was taking advantage of that while hiding behind my past.

“I know I can raise Theo alone; I know I can do it. But I don’t want to do it alone anymore. I don’t want to do it alone if I could have you by my side instead. And, oh God,” she says, her eyes darting frantically across his face, “I really hope I’m not misreading things. Nicole keeps saying that you—I feel like I’m being—”

In an instant, his lips are on hers, warm and soft and insistent. She closes her eyes and lets herself melt into his embrace. The kiss is chaste, but it feels like everything finally snaps back into place.

“God, Aurora. Schätzli. I would be whoever you want me to be. Whatever you’re ready for. I’ll be here. I’ve known that since the first time we met, Liebling.”

“God, Nico,” she says breathily, “I want everything.”

“Okay,” he smiles, “Everything it is. We can take it as slow as you’d like.”

“Haven’t we wasted enough time?”

He laughs, dimples appearing on his cheeks. “Fuck, I love you, Aurora.”

“I love you too, Nico,” she smiles.

They share a few chaste kisses. And they wait, Aurora wrapped in his steadying embrace, until the doctor finally comes to tell them that Theo is in a recovery room and is doing great.

When they walk into the room together, Theo immediately spots Nico and his eyes light up.

“Nico! You’re here!” he yells.

“Yeah, of course I am,” Nico says warmly, walking across the room to pull Theo into a tight hug.

“Where have you been? I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah, Bärli. I’m sorry.” He runs his fingers through Theo’s messy hair and smiles. “I’m here now. And I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

He looks up, eyes meeting Aurora’s, and he smiles. And she never doubts for a second that he means it.

#look i know that third pic in the banner is jack okay don't at me LOL #demi's birthday bingo #birthday bingo #rox writes #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #new jersey devils imagine #devils imagine #njd #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier x oc #nico hischier fic

155 notes · View notes